


While We Grow Up

by midnight_etudes



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Nanny, F/F, Fluff, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 01:30:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20921930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnight_etudes/pseuds/midnight_etudes
Summary: “Ms. Swan,” she gave Emma a brief smile, “I’m Regina Mills. It will just take me a few minutes to finish up here. Please, sit down.”Emma sat down across from… Regina? Ms. Mills? and took the opportunity to study her for a moment. Her short, dark hair flipped out a bit at the bottom and yet every individual hair seemed to be perfectly in place. Her lips pursed thoughtfully for a moment and then she briskly closed her laptop.“Now then, hello.”“Uh… hi,” Genius, thought Emma. I’m conversing like a genius. Also, I don’t think I brushed my hair this morning. Did I brush my teeth? I hope so. What next? “Thanks for volunteering,” she ventured.“Oh, I owe Ms. Lucas a favor. She shared some of her best recipes with me. Plus, I was a young mom once too.” Regina Mills smiled smugly as Emma started in surprise and began to correct her.“Appearances matter, Ms. Swan. You have spit-up on your shoulder.”“Oh, it’s not mine,” Emma said. “I mean… obviously not the spit up. The kid isn’t mine either. He just spits up on me. I’m a nanny,” she finally clarified.Emma is a live-in nanny for Mary Margaret and David. Regina is her career mentor. Fluffy slow burn ensues.





	1. Unacceptable Incompetence and Patheticism

“So what do you think?” Mary Margaret asked nervously. “You’re so great with Neal and David and I would hate to leave him with a stranger when I go back to work. Room and board and enough money for you to finish up your degree in the evenings… I said all this already. Now I’m babbling. Sorry. We have an espresso machine in the kitchen you could use! What do you think?”

Emma smiled into her phone. She’d already made up her mind that she was sick of chasing down idiots, but it was nice to hear how much her old roommate wanted her to come. “Unlimited espresso?” she asked.

“Absolutely! And organic food, because of course that’s what we’re buying now that we have a baby. And your own room. Wait, you’re laughing. Is that good laughing?”

“Yes, yes,” Emma reassured her. “I’m ready for a change. I’ll be on your doorstep in four weeks.”

“Oh Emma, that’s amazing! I’m so glad! David! David, she said yes!”

* * * * *

A month later, Emma had arrived and settled in to Mary Margaret’s spare bedroom. It was furnished, fortunately, although Emma was still living out of a cardboard box sitting on top of the dresser. Mainly, she’d “settled in” by holding the baby while Mary Margaret got out sheets and explained the welcome basket of toiletries she’d put together.

Emma’s room was an island of sparsity and calm, in fact. The rest of the house was littered with little wooden toys navigating around dried puddles of spit-up. There were more dirty dishes in the sink than Emma had seen Mary Margaret leave over two years in their previous apartment. David was up for a promotion at the station, apparently, and so had been working late more often than not and Mary Margaret couldn’t bring herself to set the baby down long enough to maintain her old standards.

The morning of Mary Margaret’s first day of work she hovered indecisively by the kitchen island, turning suddenly to adjust the emergency numbers on the fridge, then snatching her hand away and swiveling to set three dishes in the sink, then reaching for a toy on the floor before standing up, empty-handed, and looking back at the sink.

“Mary Margaret, go!” said Emma. “Your students need you and Neal and I are fine. We’ve got the bottles, we’ve got the schedule, I know how to put that demonic carrier thing on, I know where the library is, and you are late. Kiss your mommy, Neal,” she held Neal up to slobber on Mary Margaret’s cheek, “and wave bye-bye. Bye-bye! Bye! Get out of here, Mommy!”

Emma continued to babble in exaggerated baby tones. “Why is Mommy still here? I don’t know. No I don’t. There she goes. Oh good, there she’s going. Wave one more time. See you soon, Mommy!” Emma dropped the baby voice with a relieved sigh. She’d been afraid she’d have to shut Mary Margaret’s own door in her face. “Okay, kid. Let’s go get some exercise. Do you want to be the airplane or should I? You want to? Sounds like a plan.”

* * * * *

A few weeks in, strung out from a very grumpy kiddo who missed his nap, Emma slouched down in her seat and prepared for the most pointless, one-credit, (mandatory) class ever: “Careers and Visions.” Three hours. On Monday nights. Blech.

As she waited, a graceful woman slid into the seat next to Emma and pulled out a giant mason jar of coffee. “Good call,” said Emma.

“Hmm?” asked the woman.

Emma lifted her Starbucks cup and gestured at the 32-ounce jar with a bit of envy. “Your caffeine provisions.”

“Yes, well it’s not like I can count on the subject material for much stimulation.” Emma snorted as her new companion rolled her eyes. “I’m Mulan,” she said and stuck out her hand.

“Emma,” she replied, shaking Mulan’s hand firmly for a second and meeting an equally firm grip. She noticed her sweatpants and slightly damp Army T-shirt. “Come here from the gym?”

“Oh, I ran here from work,” Mulan replied. “It’s good exercise, you know? Plus the train gives me a headache.”

“Fair enough,” said Emma. The silence stretched for a minute.

“So how awful do you think this class is going to be?” asked Mulan finally.

“Oh man. I think they’re just afraid someone is going to sue them like all the for-profit colleges and they want to cover their asses. ‘See, our graduates learn about careers. They might actually make money someday.’”

“Maybe it’s an easy A?”

“Let’s hope.” Emma got out a notebook and began doodling as the professor came in and moved to the front of the room. She was short but commanding in a no-nonsense cardigan with grey hair she didn’t seem to fuss too much about.

“Welcome, everyone, to Careers and Visions. I’m Ms. Lucas. Think this class is a joke? The administration does too, but I do not. Education can open doors, but unless you know what’s behind those doors you’re just running down a nightmare hallway that never ends. This is going to be the most cost-effective class you ever take because it will tell you which classes **not** to take.”

Emma was impressed enough that she listened through the whole spiel and so, when they were told to brainstorm ten possible careers (no matter how ridiculous) and discuss with a partner, she turned good-naturedly to Mulan.

“Do they still have private eyes? Like those guys in a dingy corner office with their hats pulled low and feet up on the desk?” Emma asked.

“I don’t think so, but that would be awesome. What about knights? I could go off on a quest to slay monsters.”

“And to win ladies?”

“Yes, that does seem to be most of what knighthood is about. Definitely to win the ladies.” Mulan flashed a smile and a wink and the rest of the night passed more quickly than Emma had feared.

Near the end of class, Ms. Lucas explained that they’d spend some of their class time meeting with individual mentors who’d help them plan out plausible career trajectories. Emma winced a little. She was so not a people person. Still, she dutifully filed up to the table in the corner to pick up the information on her way out. She opened envelope with her name on it and looked inside. There was no career information, no guidance on this mentor project. All it contained was a phone number and a name: “Regina Mills.”

* * * * *

Regina Mills stormed out of the principal’s office, her heels clacking furiously over the happy chatter of children working. It was unacceptable! Unacceptable that at an exclusive private school in the best school district in the country her son had been left at the mercy of a substitute teacher for an exorbitant three months during his regular teacher’s maternity leave. Unacceptable that the administration had not allowed him to switch up a year into the sixth grade English class as she’d requested. Unacceptable that students were bullying—bullying!—her son and that no one seemed to be doing anything to stop it. And unacceptable, she finished her silent tirade in a slightly more private mental voice, that the principal did not even seem to be intimidated by her righteous anger.

She stormed around the corner and was taken aback to see the kids out at recess, looking too big for the elementary school playground. There was Henry swinging sadly by himself on the tire swing. And there was Grayson, that little shit, laughing and throwing a football around with a large group of boys. Regina stalked up to them.

“You!” she hissed at Grayson. “Yes, you! Come over here!” Grayson slunk towards her and Regina smiled a tiny bit because at least her prosecutor glare still worked on some people. “How dare you bully my son!” she accused him. “You are a nasty, manipulative child who needs to learn right from wrong.”

“Go away,” she shooed the other students who had gathered protectively around Grayson. “You can do so much better than him. He doesn’t deserve to have friends.”

“MS. MILLS! MS. MILLS! That is ENOUGH!” The teacher Regina had left in the principal’s office—hopefully to receive a scolding from her boss—came sprinting up to her and stepped in front of Grayson. The boys quickly scattered and then huddled together again in the far corner of the playground.

“You absolutely may not speak to one of our students that way. He is a child, Ms. Mills! A child! It is your job as the adult to control yourself.”

Regina pondered her response for a moment, but Ms. Nolan interrupted her again. “You need to get off of school property. Now,” she demanded.

“I will not!”

“Oh yes, you will or I will have our security remove you forcibly. My job is to protect the students, Ms. Mills, not their parents. If you do not leave this instant I can ban you from campus indefinitely. Besides,” Ms. Nolan sighed, “this is just making it worse for Henry.”

Regina looked over the teacher’s shoulder to her son, who was curled up in a miserable ball with his head in his lap. And somehow, she had lost. Again. “I’m going, I’m going,” she said, trying not to deflate in front of this woman. “But you keep an eye on that Grayson! He is a terrible bully and he’s making Henry’s life a living hell. It’s your **job** to stop it.” Regina held her head high as she turned away and only deigned to lift her eyebrow a moment later when she heard Ms. Nolan mutter something that sounded quite a lot like “pot… kettle…”

* * * * *

Emma walked into coffee shop apprehensively. Who looked like they were here to play guidance counselor to an overgrown high schooler? There was a woman with frazzled hair who was probably here to get ten minutes away from her kids. A businesswoman sat typing into her laptop and phone simultaneously, no doubt waiting for a high-powered client to arrive. A third woman looked cute and a little uncomfortable in her clothes, like she had dressed up for a first date. None of them seemed to fit the part. Perhaps her mentor was running late.

“Emma,” called the barista with her drink, and the businesswoman looked up.

“Ms. Swan,” she gave Emma a brief smile, “I’m Regina Mills. It will just take me a few minutes to finish up here. Please, sit down.”

Emma sat down across from… Regina? Ms. Mills? and took the opportunity to study her for a moment. Her short, dark hair flipped out a bit at the bottom and yet every individual hair seemed to be perfectly in place. Her lips pursed thoughtfully for a moment and then she briskly closed her laptop. “Now then, hello.”

“Uh… hi,” _Genius_, thought Emma. _I’m conversing like a genius. Also, I don’t think I brushed my hair this morning. Did I brush my teeth? I hope so._ _What next?_ “Thanks for volunteering,” she ventured.

“Oh, I owe Ms. Lucas a favor. She shared some of her best recipes with me. Plus, I was a young mom once too.” Regina Mills smiled smugly as Emma started in surprise and began to correct her.

“Appearances matter, Ms. Swan. You have spit-up on your shoulder.”

“Oh, it’s not mine,” Emma said. “I mean… obviously not the spit up. The kid isn’t mine either. He just spits up on me. I’m a nanny,” she finally clarified.

“Oh. That’s nice,” said her mentor in the tone of someone who’d only hired nannies, never talked with one. “How did you get into that?”

“It’s a long story. Or rather, my old roommate asked and I said yes. I guess it’s what came before that’s a long story.”

“And what comes next?”

“Wow, you don’t pull punches, do you? I never had the money to get my degree before, you know?” Ms… Regina… Mills probably didn’t know. “I started working as soon as I could when I was a kid—babysitting, scooping ice cream, and then tracking down bail jumpers. Natural progression, I guess.” Emma shrugged but Regina Mills didn’t take the bait and ask what she meant. “So now I think I’ll try college for a while. What do you do?”

“I’m a lawyer,” she answered. “Corporate.”

“So for the bad guys?” Emma joked, trying to warm things up a bit. This time she thought she saw Regina flinch momentarily.

“If that’s what you call the people who run this country,” Regina shrugged, recovering. “You’re not aiming for a job that pays money?”

“Money, yeah. At the expense of my soul? I hope not.”

“So you’re looking to go into drama, then.” Regina Mills commented dryly. “I didn’t know you needed a degree for that.”

“No, I… never mind.” Emma took a breath to regroup for a moment. “But it doesn’t matter what I want to do yet. Isn’t this meeting supposed to be about your career path? To give me an example?”

“I suppose so. After high school I went to Harvard, my mother’s alma mater, and straight to Yale Law afterwards. Summer internship for MPC and here I am, head of their international law team.”

“Well, that’s a quick story. Sounds like everything went according to plan.”

“Yes,” she said tightly. So not according to someone’s plan, mused Emma. There was something behind Regina Mills’ perfect story and perfect appearance.

“And then kids?” Emma prompted curiously. She thought momentarily of Mary Margaret, who’d come home with bags under her eyes and a pile of papers to grade only to be handed a very fussy Neil as Emma left. Neil was probably spitting up on the papers at this very moment as Mary Margaret struggled to remember how to focus her eyes. Kids and careers didn’t seem like a good match in her limited experience.

“No, my son pre-dates my career, actually, and that’s quite enough about my life.” Ms. Mills narrowed her eyes, definitely not Regina now. “Next time we can talk about your appalling lack of planning and whether you would like to be oppressed from within corporate America or outside it. Goodnight, Ms. Swan.”

“Wow, okay. Same time next week?” Emma asked and got a curt nod in return. “Nice to meet you Ms. Mills.”

“This chicken pot pie better be worth it,” said Ms. Mills as she walked away. Emma looked around. Had anyone else heard that? The woman with messy hair seemed to be busily eaves-dropping on the first date, which was progressing poorly for the nervous girl, but the barista raised a sympathetic eyebrow Emma’s way.

“She’s a regular,” he explained. “Here, have a biscotti on the house.” He brought over an almond biscotti which Emma munched thoughtfully as she finished her coffee and took notes on the meeting for class. Her napkin had a phone number written on it. Poor guy, Emma thought as she caught his eyes on her. I’m so gay that even my crazy mentor is more appealing than you. In fact… well, she’s crazy so that’s that. And I’m basically a third grader to her, deciding what I want to be when I grow up. Emma smiled kindly at the barista on her way out—at least she had company in her… patheticness? Pathos? Patheticism? In her pitiable state.


	2. The Enchanted Forest Makes an Appearance

A few days later Emma and Mary Margaret were chatting and snacking amid the dirty dishes in the kitchen while Mary Margaret bounced Neil in the carrier.

“It’s this Enchanted Forest game they play on their phones.” Mary Margaret huffed out. “They’re all crazy about it, including Henry, but something’s up. For all that she’s incredibly awful, Henry’s mom is right. He’s miserable and we haven’t actually figured out what the other kids are doing. Except now they’re all teasing him because his mom is psycho.”

“They have a valid point there,” Emma noted.

“Well, yes, but it’s still mean. Shhh, sweetie. Please go to sleep. Shhhhhhhh.” Mary Margaret began swinging Neal from side to side in a dizzying fashion that Emma now recognized as paradoxically calming.

“Of course, of course.” Emma answered Mary Margaret’s first comment. “That’s your job to hold the line there. But maybe I can investigate what’s happening online. Can you get me Henry’s user name?”

“You play Enchanted Forest?” Mary Margaret asked in surprise.

“It’s not just for 10 year-olds—I swear! I used to play it on stake-outs. It’s pretty addictive, obviously. I’m a Level II knight.”

“Not Level I?”

“Hey, they start you off at Level X peasant, okay? And you have to find a royal patron if you want to be Level I. Besides, wouldn’t it be a little worse if I **were** Level I?” teased Emma.

“Definitely,” agreed David, walking into the room. “So I won’t sponsor you.”

“Wait, what?” Emma looked up from her nachos.

“Oh, David and I got in at the ground floor,” said Mary Margaret airily as David looked at the dishes and blanched. “Leopold White was my RA in college and he gave me a little kingdom. I haven’t been on in ages—I don’t really see the appeal, honestly—but David sometimes plays.”

“Not anymore…” David muttered as he picked up the little bottle brush and started in on the sink.

Emma was not about to let this opportunity go. “So if, hypothetically, it weren’t extra pathetic to be even better at being nerdy…?”

“We’ll just see what you’ve got, Sir Swan,” said David with a wink. “Rescue this kid and I just might appoint you Knight of the Realm. That, or you could finish these dishes.”

“Oops, I’ve got some schoolwork to finish up. See you in the morning.”

* * * * *

“Henry, dinner!” called Regina. Silence. “Log off and come down!” she tried again.

A few minutes later Henry came stomping grumpily down the stairs. “I can’t believe you cut off the wifi again!” he glowered.

“Oh, it’s been glitchy,” Regina agreed. “I’ve got a call in for a repairman to come, but in the meantime you can eat dinner. I’ve made the chicken pot pie you like from Ruby’s.”

“You’re not fooling anyone, Mom,” complained Henry. He looked meaningfully at the router, which was unplugged from the wall.

“Oh, that? What do you know,” said Regina with wide eyes. “I’ll plug it in again after dinner. I can’t get up from the table right now, of course,” she continued calmly and her eyes became hard. “Now eat.”

After that, dinner was a silent, five-minute affair. Henry got up as soon as his plate was empty and took it to the dishwasher at Regina’s look. “Is your homework done, dear?” she called in to him.

“Duh, Mom,” said Henry. “It’s always done. That’s why my teacher likes me better than you do. She’s like the only person at school who does.”

Regina bit her lips together and pretended not to notice when the router disappeared—plug and all—along with Henry. She tasted blood. But he had eaten!

* * * * *

“So who’s your mentor?” Emma asked Mulan before their next class.

“A librarian?” said Mulan. “She said to get a day job that makes you happy just in case your personal life goes to shit.”

“Truth,” agreed Emma. “If mine had a motto it would be ‘Live by the silver spoon, die by the silver spoon.’ I’m not sure how she’s gonna help someone with a GED. If I could afford to dress like her people would hire me too.”

“So she’s hot?” Mulan smirked.

“Oh, shut up,” said Emma. “Yeah. But I haven’t even used her first name yet, so don’t hold your breath on that one. There’s something off, though. Like somehow she wasn’t planning on stellar success. I don’t know.” Emma shrugged.

“Well then maybe that’s your common ground,” teased Mulan, “no plans for stellar success.”

“Well, I didn’t have any plans, but now that I’m gonna put that on a T-shirt I think I’ll become rich and famous. Hang on.” Emma whipped open her notebook and drew a rough T-shirt with her new slogan. Mulan nodded her approval.

“You are paying me 50% royalties. And I’d totally buy that shirt.” Mulan settled back comfortably in her seat, but Emma was still antsy for some adult conversation and they had about five minutes left before class started.

“So did the mentor bit help you figure out what’s next?” she tried.

“Well, I’ve known for a while that I want to go into OT—occupational therapy to help people live and do stuff. Maybe with kids, maybe with veterans or adults. Not sure. Lacey said everyone was pushing her to be a children’s librarian until she finally said ‘Nope-I like dusty old extinct languages, thanks.’ But unlike her I actually like kids, so I don’t know.” Mulan sighed.

“You ever been around kids for long? They’re not all they’re cracked up to be sometimes.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen enough. I work at a rec center in their after school program. Mostly I’m in the gym for hours at a time listening to about 20 basketballs and 40 kids blowing off steam.” Mulan shrugged. “It’s fine. But the quiet here is nice.”

Emma could certainly picture just that rec center. Not her kind of place. People were always trying to get foster kids into places like that, maybe because they didn’t think they could hack it at robotics club or maybe because they were afraid they’d be on the streets shoplifting otherwise. So perhaps well-founded fears, but that didn’t make the basketball sound any better. “Sports aren’t really my thing,” she admitted.

“That’s fine,” said Mulan. “But actually, we have a kiddie playroom too. Blocks and books and stuff. It’s open to the public. Maybe you could bring the kid sometime.”

“You work in there too?” Emma asked, already envisioning a nice, two-adult break in the monologue she kept up daily with Neal.

“No, it’s supervised by caregivers. But I could meet you for lunch before my shift,” suggested Mulan.

“Done,” said Emma. “How’s Thursday?”

* * * * *

Sir_Swan_8 sauntered up to the arena and took a look at the tournament rankings posted there. (Damn David for guessing her name! At least it wasn’t “Charming;-)”. Ahem. The White Kingdom was small, but David definitely could sponsor her. Probably set her up with epic-level gear, too. How should she bring it up again without sounding too dorky?)

WriteKnightHM was clearly in trouble. He’d gone from 140th in Knight IV to 2,457th in just a few weeks. “Wrong way, kid,” Emma muttered. Lose a few more spots and he’d be demoted back to Peasant V. WriteKnightHM had been doing fine before that, slowly climbing the ranks with only the sort of temporary setbacks you’d expect. What was going on?

Neal began to stir again in the carrier on her chest. “Oh no you don’t,” said Emma in a calming tone. She patted his back without looking and kept scrolling through the Enchanted Forest map with her right hand. “You are asleep, sir, and I am about to enjoy some mindless phone time. Shhhhh. Yes, shhhh. Now what’s going on with this poor guy?” 

Sir_Swan_8 rode through the forest, ducking through a shortcut by the maple trees. Sure enough, she was jumped by hooligans in the low spot by the river. They tried to grab her saddle bag and run off, but Sir_Swan_8 had checked for traps and caught them by surprise instead. Whapping the riff raff with the flat of her sword, she did enough non-lethal damage to send them scurrying off. Emma used her whip to snag a few items as they fled. Hmmm… silver +5 stirrups, an energy shield potion, and a tiny trophy cup with two dolphins on it. (Emma paused to run a script of her own. She liked to picture Sir_Swan_8 holding out her hands and muttering to glowing magical energy, but the reality was that Javascript was much more practical.) Aha—all formerly property of TheBookClub, WriteKnightHM’s clan. Could that poor kid be any more of a nerd? Emma was starting to like him.

* * * * *

Regina very nearly quit right then and there. “You want us to sue the local government of Jayville County—population 30,000—for offering a 5 cent incentive for recycling?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes, of course,” replied her boss. “Can’t let the States fall further into this rebate mess you’ve allowed to go unchecked in Northern Europe. As usual, they’re funding it by adding 5 cents to the price of our partners’ products, which will not be good for business. Start here, and then we can take on Michigan and Iowa next.”

“But studies show that soda consumption is remarkably robust regardless of taxes and other fees,” Regina protested, “That’s despite all the health studies, and what has been lost the market is more than compensating for with bottled water. It will still sell. Isn’t it better for everyone’s image to get the plastic litter off the streets?”

“It is in our best interest to remove any and all barriers to single-use plastic, end of discussion. Why are you surprised? This is you mother’s policy. Now implement it.”

* * * * *

Regina parked, then paused to inspect herself in the rearview mirror. It wouldn’t do to look like she’d spent the past hour banging her head against a desk—which she hadn’t—or even like she’d wanted to—which she had. Always look slightly more put together than those around you. That’s how to intimidate them from the start. Not that it was likely to be much of a challenge to look better than Emma Swan. That girl was a mess. _Woman_, reminded a tiny feminist voice inside her head that had worked hard to survive its awakening in college. _She’s a woman._

Regina snorted at herself. _She’s a woman who’s currently got powdered sugar and lemon bar all over her fingers and a little bit on her nose_, she rebutted. _Which is cute_, retorted the voice. _Wait, which side of my brain is taking the feminist position now?_ Regina took a moment to reposition her jacket, then walked briskly around the building so that she could see Emma’s expression of consternation when she entered and caught her with the powdered sugar on her face. Perhaps the day was redeemable after all.

“Miss Swan,” she said smoothly as Emma choked on the powdered sugar, “at least you were punctual this time. Do take a moment to collect yourself.” Regina quickly scanned Emma’s appearance for more spit up or any other opportunities, but today Emma was quite presentable in a casual sort of way. She appeared to have brushed her pulled-back hair. Leather jacket, nice jeans, boots. Hmm. Maybe a bit gay. That was interesting. _Why?_ asked the left side of her brain._ Oh shut up,_ responded the right.

“So I’m in the hot seat today, huh?” said Emma, when she’d finished coughing.

_So your pink cheeks would indicate, _Regina thought. “Only hot if you still don’t know what to do with yourself,” she said instead.

“Right, so I was thinking about that. I’m tired of chasing down creepy bail jumpers, but law enforcement and the military are out,” (Regina filed that away with a suspicion) “so probably not something super physical. Neal’s cute and all, but I’m not into preschool or anything like that. I’ve worked retail, but I hate people, so I guess this is your chance to give me the spiel for corporate America,” Emma sighed.

“What, so you can hate people there?” Regina asked. Wow, things were a bit too close to the surface today. Emma would be in good company hating people. She’d better turn it around. “Dig deeper, Ms. Swan. What are you good at?”

Emma looked up at the ceiling for a moment and scrunched her nose as she tapped her coffee cup thoughtfully. “Video games. Sizing people up. Sarcasm.”

“A stellar résumé.”

“See, it’s because of my mad sarcasm skills that I see what you’re doing there.”

Regina smiled in spite of herself. “Try again, Ms. Swan.”

“Okay, I’m not good at suits and formality. This Ms. Swan business is too weird. I’m Emma, so call me that. I’m frank, and I’m persistent. And I guess I can code a little bit.”

“Well, that’s something,” said Regina with hidden relief. Emma was so stubborn she’d been afraid she wouldn’t be able to cut this meeting short and put Henry to bed. The babysitter was probably letting him play Enchanted Forest again.

“So you’re going to program video games? That sounds reasonable.”

“Yeah, if you’re 13. In reality getting a good coding job is about as reasonable as being an astronaut or a rock star.” Emma sighed. “Or you can work on the coding team 80-hour weeks getting some skin to look right and get paid a little bit above minimum wage to do it.”

“Sounds a lot like being a lawyer, actually,” said Regina in surprise. “I remember being on the 80-hour week team,” she added ruefully.

“Wait, with a kid?” asked Emma. “That must have been rough.”

No questions about a husband, thankfully. “Yes, it was,” answered Regina.

“Can I ask you something?” Emma asked. She still hadn’t used Regina’s name, first or last. Regina wondered for a moment how long she could intimidate her into using neither. Emma took her silence as assent.

“You work for MPC, who probably made the plastic lid of the cup I’m holding here—yes, of course I googled your obscure company acronym—and yet you’re drinking out of stainless steel. What’s up with that?”

Regina sighed. “My son gave me this cup,” she explained.

“That’s nice,” answered Emma. “For exactly one day. And then you have to wash it and remember to dry it and pack it before the next day. Don’t even get me started on dishes. That cup takes dedication.”

For a very unsettling moment, Regina was speechless. How did she **do** that? Emma offered a sheepish smile. Or was it cocky? “My list of skills may sound like bullshit, but I really can size people up,” she explained. “And I think you’re working for the wrong company.”


	3. Can't Meet This Week

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters into my first fic now, I'm going to continue to try to post about every week. I think it's realistic to shoot for two weeks, at most, between postings. Thanks for all the positive responses and comments so far! 
> 
> A few mild trigger warnings this week--scroll to the end to read them.

That weekend, Regina packed a grumpy Henry in the car and headed out to their cabin. To Cora, it was a summer home kept merely for appearances in the same way one might keep gin or tea available for guests with unaccountable tastes. The décor was faux-rustic and she had local help to cook and clean when she took clients to see the famous New England fall foliage. By early March, however, the leaves had fallen and turned brown and the fields were dotted with icy mud. Cora was safely in Asia on business, and the cabin was all Regina’s.

As soon as they arrived, phones and laptops were locked in the trunk. Regina was always strict on this rule and, as there was no wifi and service was spotty, Henry didn’t even protest too much. He headed straight inside to light a fire in the stone fireplace—a job he had proudly earned just last summer. Regina unpacked the groceries and set out a jar of fresh cider they’d frozen from this year’s apples. Tomorrow, she’d take Henry for a ride.

Regina looked out the window at the stars and the shadows of trees and felt a tiny bit lighter. Henry was curled up by the fire with a book and the cider was almost gone. He looked younger again for a minute. Regina sat down in a recliner opposite him with one of the legal pads she kept stashed in her bedroom here and a new, smooth pen. She tucked her legs up under her and wrote, _Reasons Emma Swan is Wrong._

_-She’s rude_

_-She’s immature_

_<strike>-Mothe</strike> _ Regina crossed that one out several times.

_-Ash cleans and packs the cup_(Not perhaps the most solid argument.)

_-It’s nice to be rich _ Regina fiddled with the pen for a moment. True. Embarrassing, though? Uncouth anyway. She crossed it out and clarified underneath.

_-I can provide for Henry _ But Henry didn’t like her “filthy pollution company.” That’s why he’d given her the cup in the first place. And researched the glass lunch containers. And packed reusable grocery bags in the car.

_-I can keep it from getting worse_ That’s what she’d told herself recently. But was it true? Corporate double-speak never seemed to quite work at the cabin. Regina sighed uneasily. She wasn’t a kid anymore, or a young, single mom. Emma was right—she could change jobs. Advice from a basically unemployed high school dropout. Great. Probably she was having a mini life crisis because Henry was suffering. Emma was just a catalyst. That was the only explanation. Regina sighed again. She saw that Henry was nodding off and gently touched his shoulder.

“Time for bed, dear. I already turned on the baseboard heaters in your room.” Henry snuggled into the chair for a moment, but he didn’t pull away from her hand. Reluctantly, he headed up the stairs.

“’Night, Mom.” Regina’s heart hurt as she watched him, as though he was still padding around in footie pyjamas. Her beautiful boy. The cabin was working its magic.

* * * * *

Henry rubbed Rocinante down while his mom went for a longer ride. She still wouldn’t let him gallop—“Not with your tender skull!”—and Rocinante was getting too old for so much excitement anyway. That’s why his mom let Henry ride him. Henry didn’t mind the break. When the horse was settled he went over to the house attached to the barn and made himself a hot chocolate. He had some strategizing to do.

WriteKnightHM was safely camped out in the middle of the woods while Henry was offline. He’d found an old hideout left by the famous bandit and outlaw Snow. Snow was making herself scarce these days, but she’d left clues for others to follow. Now that his character was secure it was time to regroup.

In the weeks since his so-called friends had joined TheBookClub and looted all its supplies they’d been beating him up with his own gear and laughing at him all day at school. This could not continue. Henry pulled out a yellow legal pad and one of his mother’s nice pens.

_Operation Chimera_

_Objective: Defeat the usurpers and take back my stuff_

_Their motivation: being assholes?_

_Their objective: to prove they’re better than me_

Their weakness? That was the issue. They had strength in numbers and, unfortunately, good supplies. No, their weakness was not immediately obvious, but being observant by nature Henry had spotted something important.

_Their weakness: stamina_

Grayson and his crew didn’t have the patience to build a clubhouse from raw lumber. They hadn’t completed any of the more intricate quests. They’d never find out who Snow was, let alone sniff out her hideouts. No, Grayson’s weakness was that he didn’t actually care about the Enchanted Forest, not like Henry did. And that weakness would be his downfall. But first, WriteKnightHM needed some allies.

* * * * *

“Are you kidding me?!” Emma asked her phone. Neal looked up from the dry oatmeal he was spreading all over the floor. “Sorry baby, go back to that. The oatmeal’s so interesting, right? It feels really powdery.” Emma got up from the couch and went to find Mary Margaret.

“Does he need nursing?” Mary Margaret sighed when she saw Emma in the bedroom doorway. “I didn’t hear him fussing.”

“No, he’s fine,” said Emma. “I just don’t believe this. My stupid mentor cancelled for tonight because she’s too chickenshit to, I don’t know, talk about career options for someone who didn’t get into Harvard.”

Mary Margaret set her computer aside. “Okay, come vent over here where we can see the baby,” she said, putting on her fuzzy pink slippers and leading the way into the hallway. “So this is after she told you where she worked was none of your uneducated, underemployed business and to go work 80-hour weeks for a few years before having opinions? Come on, we already knew she was a winner.”

“I just thought we were getting somewhere. We were being sarcastic, I could tell she hates people too…”

“And then you called her a hypocrite,” Mary Margaret pointed out, cutting Emma off. She picked up a stuffed lion and handed it to Neal, who had grown bored with the oatmeal and was trying to fall face-first out of his sitting position.

“But she is, or she wouldn’t have been upset with me. Besides, I need to meet with her for class,” Emma whined. “She can’t just cancel.”

Mary Margaret held out her hand. “Give me the phone. Let’s see what she said.”

**Regina Mills: Traveling. Can’t meet this week.**

“Maybe she’s actually traveling,” Mary Margaret suggested. “She is the head of the _international_ legal team of a large corporation.”

“I’ve been talking about her too much, haven’t I?” sighed Emma.

“Just a bit.” Mary Margaret smiled at her. “It’s cute how you have a completely hopeless crush. Want me to help you set up an online dating profile so you can meet someone for actual dates?”

“No, that’s okay,” said Emma. “I hate people, remember?” Emma picked up her phone and typed out a reply.

**Me: K. When should we make it up?**

There was an immediate response.

**Regina: Due to unavoidable circumstances, I will be offline until March 16th.**

“WTF!?” she exclaimed in exasperation.

“Emma, my child’s tender ears are right here,” reminded Mary Margaret.

“Yep, and letters are good for him.” Emma responded without losing her focus. “What do you think the deal is with this BS auto-reply?” She passed the phone back again.

“I think the deal is that she’s traveling for work and can’t meet this week,” said Mary Margaret.

* * * * *

In law school, Regina had frequently run along the grad student houses, through an okay-ish neighborhood, and up a wooded trail to an overlook called East Rock. That was not where it happened. It happened in the fancy house of the sleazy partner who was overseeing Regina’s internship. She considered reporting him, weighed the consequences, and remained silent. Three weeks later she discovered there were more complications.

There was no question what Cora Mills would have done had she known about Regina’s predicament. If she had called home, or even let something slip, Regina would have found herself swiftly and discreetly not pregnant. Mother would have been insufferable in both her reproach for Regina’s “carelessness” and her insistence that this absolutely proved what she’d been saying all along: that Regina could not possibly be a lesbian. So Regina holed herself up in her carriage-house apartment and didn’t emerge for a week.

During that week, Regina planned the one and only victory she had ever scored over her mother. Regina had always loved and wanted children. Not like this—but then she never had allowed herself to think it through. It had never seemed possible to defy The Plan. There was dread too, of course, and disgust, but the fact that this inconvenient ball of cells was too small to even resemble a whale did not dim the unsettling excitement she was beginning to feel. It was a treacherous feeling, but Regina was used to contradictions. What she was not used to was having something to look forward to. So she assessed her wardrobe—winter would help for a while—and for the spring she arranged a two-month stint at the border assisting with asylum claims.

As expected, Mother thought she had gone to Arizona simply out of spite and didn’t think to look for any other motivations. When Regina returned, seven months pregnant and glowing, abortion was out of the question. To give a Mills up for adoption would not have looked right at all. And, Regina threatened, if she didn’t have enough money to finish her degree and care for a baby she could always go back and accept a permanent position. Cora hired a nanny, and Regina passed the bar.

_What happened to that self-assured woman?_ Regina wondered, _and how do I get her back? _She was about to go up against her mother again. How had she ever gotten away with it the first time? Unwelcome though the memories were, Regina searched them for lessons. Like before, she made her pivotal decision in an instant. She could not continue with things as they were at MPC. The what was settled, and the why, but Regina needed a few days to figure out the how. She’d cancelled her meetings for the week, including Emma Swan, and told Henry they’d be spending some more family time together.

“But what about school?” he asked with a furtive glance towards the trunk where his phone was locked up.

“I have it on good authority that your teacher likes you more than I do,” she replied haughtily. “And given that I’m your mother, I think it only fair that you give me a few days to catch back up.” Henry grinned in response which was… gratifying. And unexpected.

“Okay, Mom,” Henry replied, grinning a bit more now. (Why? Why was he grinning?) “Orchard tag—you’re it! Go ahead and try to catch me now.”

* * * * *

Oh, the squeak of the sneakers on linoleum tiles! The smell of… school. Construction paper and erasers and crayons and rubber. Emma shuddered. The attendant at the desk had spiky bleach blonde hair and fingernails painted like ladybugs. They pointed Emma down the hall to a room full of old donated toys and books.

“Hey Neal, here we go,” said Emma. “Up and out of there.” Neal gave her a two-toothed smile as she lifted him out of the carrier.

“Ah!” he said, reaching towards the toy kitchen. “Ah! Ah!”

Emma held Neal’s hands and helped him stand up against the toy stove until he sat down happily with some cups. Neal was adorable. Emma loved him, even. And yet watching him explore his surroundings could be mind-numbingly boring. She snuck out her phone (no messages from Regina) to get in a bit of Enchanted Forest while Neal was happily occupied.

WriteKnightHM had gone underground. First smart move in a while, actually. Sir_Swan_8 couldn’t find him anywhere. TheBookClub, however, was overrun by a pack of peasants and knights. The highest-ranking knight was GrayWolfMan. Didn’t take an elite hacker to figure out that that one had to be Grayson. Sir_Swan_8 lurked in the forest and ran a few more spells. He’d never notice the tracker code she’d placed on him.

Sir_Swan_8 kept her eye on the perimeter of TheBookClub. She didn’t need to infiltrate it, per se, but it would be useful to see the inside just to get some more insight on WriteKnightHM and where he might have gone. An overdressed man with red hair stepped in front of her. Wait, that was IRL.

“Hello?” Emma offered to the stranger who had walked up to her. He didn’t have an infant with him, yet seemed to feel perfectly entitled to be in the infant and caregiver room.

“Emma?” he asked. “I’m Archie, I work with Mulan. She wanted me to let you know that she’s covering for a colleague with the tot lot and she’ll be a little bit late meeting you for lunch.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” said Emma. Why hadn’t Mulan just texted her? Meanwhile, Archie fiddled with his tie. He didn’t leave.

“You’d be welcome to join us in the staff break room to eat if you’re hungry now,” he said. What was with this guy?

“Oh, I have the kid. He’s happier here. We’re fine.”

“Okay,” answered Archie. “I’ll see you around.”

When Mulan showed up about 30 minutes later Emma asked her about Archie.

“Oh, he’s just like that,” said Mulan. “He’s our staff counselor and always wants to make people feel welcome and safe.”

“So that’s why he made me feel like I was going to break out in hives!” said Emma. Mulan looked confused. “I’ve talked to way too many counselors. They always want to fix me. It never works. You don’t fix being a foster kid.” Emma picked up Neal quickly and settled him in a new spot so she’d have an excuse to look away from Mulan and miss whether her face showed pity or surprise or vicarious righteous anger.

Neal fussed for a bit in the quiet room, then settled back in to pulling every single stuffed animal out of the wagon. “You don’t have to talk to Archie,” said Mulan, “but if you’re going to come around here again, the only really important thing to know is that he has a wicked candy stash that he’s always trying to share with people. Don’t worry,” she added gently, “he’s got plenty of heads to shrink without worrying about yours.”

“That’s what they all say,” muttered Emma.

“And you’re probably hungry,” continued Mulan. “I’m sorry I kept you guys waiting. The options around here are a bit limited, unfortunately. Are you hungry for subs or fried chicken? How about milk?” she turned to Neal.

“Got it right here,” said Emma, patting the diaper bag. “Let’s do subs. Sorry I let my baggage hang out a little bit there.”

“No worries,” replied Mulan as they headed out the door. “You can make up for it by helping me figure out what the hell my mentor meant when I asked if she had any advice for me and she responded ‘Be my guest.'"

* * * * *

Regina looked at her phone again.

**Emma: K. When should we make it up?**

That was it? Had Emma not thought of her more than once in an entire week? Regina had thought of Emma at least… well, like her age, no more than 29 times. 9. Make that no more than 9 times. More than one fucking text message, anyway!

**Me: Our next scheduled meeting should suffice.**

Dammit! Why did she always sound so cold? Was it Mother coming out? What a horrible thought.

**Me: I’m sorry I had to cancel; work has been crazy.**

**Emma: No biggie. Quiet week here. **

Regina hesitated. No response was needed. But she wanted to hear from Emma again.

**Me: Have you decided what you want to be when you grow up, Ms. Swan?**

**Emma: Oh, a white knight of course. See you Monday.**

And with that distracting image, Emma apparently put her phone down for the night. Despite Regina’s response (“And be a puppet of the monarchy? Excellent work finding a third oppressive option.”), Emma was silent. Her hair would be up inside her helmet of course, but flowing when she took it off? Regina could just picture her seat on the horse. Oh dear. It had been too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief, non-graphic mentions of rape and abortion.


	4. Hands Off My Baby!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, clearly all update promises are bullshit. But here is another chapter!

Neal was sick on Monday. Emma’s whole day was constant screaming, messes everywhere, and a poor little red-faced baby. When Mary Margaret got home for the day Neal reached for her, swallowed his sobs, and then vomited over her shoulder all down the back of her work blouse. Poor kid. And also, Emma realized, she hadn’t eaten all day and had to leave to meet Regina in 20 minutes. She tiptoed away from the mess on the kitchen floor and opted to shower rather than eat. She pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to Regina. Ms. Mills. When did she become “Regina”? Oh shit.

* * * * *

**Emma: Haven’t eaten. Can we meet somewhere with food?**

Regina smiled at the buzz from her phone, then scolded herself. She was about to meet Emma in person again! It would never do to give too much away. No expressions or responses. Despite an on-and-off series of text messages that might have been flirtatious, she was neutral. Definitively so.

**Me: …**

This wasn’t a date, obviously. (Obviously? Obviously.) Just two busy people required to meet over dinner somewhere less fancy than she’d take a work colleague. So where, then? Regina scrolled through the options. Ruby’s was out—too nosy. There was an Italian place nearby that had passable lasagna, but not nearly up to snuff. Regina quickly fell into a Yelp rabbit hole.

**Emma: You’re probably on your way already. There’s a Panera right by the coffee shop. I’ll just pick something up.**

**Me: …**

Really? Some cheap bakery chain? Regina sighed. She adjusted her gray suit with the flawless lines that said “I’m very important. You, less so,” and checked her hair in the mirror. Regina had prepped for this meeting. Week four: mapping out success. Anything to keep Emma off her scent. She might be about to out-class an entire restaurant, but she was not willing to sit next to someone eating a panini on a park bench or—worse yet—smuggling it into the coffee shop. She could picture that, actually.

**Me: Nonsense. Sit down; I’ll join you there.**

* * * * *

As soon as the door closed, the babysitter raised an eyebrow. “Usual plan? Your homework’s done, you get to use my phone, I won’t tell your mom, and no arguments at bedtime.”

“Yep, deal,” said Henry. “I ate already but Mom left some soup on the stove for you.”

WriteKnightHM snuck out of his underground hideout. It had served him well so far, shielding him from posers and idiots. He’d met a few like-minded folks puzzling through Snow’s trail or out questing through the forest and was beginning to form alliances. He paused for a few moments to catch up on favors he had offered, then set out to recon TheBookClub from afar. The walls were in disrepair already and there were beginner items strewn around the ground. Disgusting. They had a sentry posted, though, and their members were still climbing the ranks in the arena. The usual suspects, generally. GrayWolfMan was getting close to catching him.

Who was that? WriteKnightHM caught a glimpse of someone lurking near the weak point in the west wall. Well, a shadow artifact actually. Someone had been there recently. No way to tell who without his Book. That was still in the treasury, unfortunately, unless someone had messed with it. Especially with a mystery character lurking around the next step in Operation Chimera would have to be to recover The Book.

It was the wrong time of day—everyone and their brother would be online and in the clubhouse right now. He’d need to find the right moment. WriteKnightHM made his stealth check on the perimeter, but it was close. He’d have to assume that the secret passage was still uncompromised—no sense giving it away himself. He slipped away and spent the rest of the evening on a side quest to acquire +5 silent boots.

* * * * *

Emma moaned. “This bread bowl is so delicious every time, especially when I’ve had a bad day. You sure you don’t want to get something?”

“No, thank you,” answered Regina. “I had soup made with real vegetables and meat an hour ago. Now lets start this ‘map to success’ of yours.”

“Ugh. Graphics are so not my thing, and I’m still using my hands to eat.” Emma had now begun ripping apart the bread bowl with gusto. Maybe Henry would like one of those. A rye sourdough with tomato, beef, and barley would be nice. “Don’t tell me you actually had everything planned in perfect detail,” Emma continued between bites. “Wait, of course you did.”

“In triplicate,” Regina nodded. “Though I did have to improvise at points.”

“That’s what I’ll do,” said Emma. “I’m an improviser.”

“Somehow I’d guessed that about you,” agreed Regina.

“Hey, I’m not the one who cancelled our last meeting for mysterious reasons,” countered Emma. Regina sighed.

“I’m sorry about that. You’re right, I was improvising a bit. Still am, actually. Not my forte.”

“Can I help?” asked Emma.

It was so disarming. Emma looked up, casually and earnestly, between grotesque bites of American offal and offered to help as though she genuinely wanted Regina to succeed.

“Well, you were right in a way the other day—disposable plastic is not a viable long-term path to success. I’ve known that for a while, but things are coming to a head a bit at the moment.” Emma nodded.

“Good for you. That’s why I ordered this bread bowl, actually, so you wouldn’t judge me for my plastic waste.”

“Wait, really?” Regina was startled. Emma was drinking out of a water bottle and eating from a metal spoon. She had a paper napkin (thankfully!) but that was it. Had Emma really put that much thought into Regina’s preferences? Maybe she just wanted to troll her?

“Nope,” Emma winked. “It's just sooooo good. The moral high ground was an extra perk.”

“God.” Regina gave up for a moment. So impertinent. So damn effective at her trolling. Emma seemed to realize that she had lost the moment.

“Sorry, you were telling me how the shit’s been hitting the fan at work. You’ve even had to… (dum dum dum!) improvise.” Emma pulled a face. “So do you have other people working with you to make some new contingency plans? Think you can get the boss on your side?”

“The boss is… complicated. But definitely not is the answer to that one. I’ll have to ambush her with my efficacy.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” Emma encouraged her around the final bites of her meal.

“I think we’re going to start a reclamation program—basically rent out plastic and take it back at the end. No one wants it, of course, and downcycling is pretty much the only option, but it’s the customers and the infrastructure we really need.”

“And then you’ll swap the plastic out for better options once they’re available?”

“Wait, what makes you say that?” Regina asked, suddenly aware that she was sharing delicate company policy (unapproved potential policy!) with a… well, a probable felon among other things.

“Seems like if you’re going to commit to full-cycle products you’ll want actual quality products at some point, won’t you?”

“Yes, yes I will Ms. Swan. Your vision is so much clearer than a few people I could name…” Regina cleared her throat. “Which is why I can’t believe you have no plan for your future. Enough stalling.”

“Okay, okay,” answered Emma. She took out her hairband and ran her fingers through her wet hair. “Get bachelor’s degree. Get job. Figure out what training I’ll need for that job. Preferably not in that order.” Regina simply raised an eyebrow in response. It was exquisitely no-nonsense. Emma needed an extra moment to respond.

“It’s just hard, you know? So many things aren’t options for someone like me. Places don’t want a 30 year-old grad with no office experience. They don’t want someone with my background. And it’s not like I have the money to set myself up with a business plan. I don’t suppose you want to be my rich benefactor?” Emma chucked a bit bitterly.

“Emma, I…”

“Oh no, that wasn’t a real question,” Emma said hurriedly. “I know that fairy godmothers don’t exist. And, anyway, you know that my business plan doesn’t exist either so you’d be a pretty hard sell.” Emma lowered her head, and Regina saw that her shoulders were hunching up. She felt the table wiggle slightly as Emma began to fidget with her foot and she reached across to take Emma’s hand. It was pure instinct. Emma let out a shaky breath.

“Let me do some mapping for you, then,” said Regina gently. “You’re resilient and hard-working—don’t make that skeptical face at me. I lived with an infant and I know what you’re doing right now isn’t easy. You’re insightful. And you’re sarcastic. Sounds to me like you should work with teenagers.”

“There’s no way…”

“Maybe not in a school setting. But think about it. Maybe look into a few possibilities?” Regina broke eye contact and realized that she was still holding Emma’s hand. Weird. She was normally hyper aware whenever her body was touching anyone. Had it felt that comfortable? Reluctantly, she pulled her hand back towards her side of the table.

“Yeah, maybe,” said Emma, who was now absently rubbing the hand that Regina had been holding. “I guess I can start with putting some of this bullshit on paper so I can pass this class.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Regina.

* * * * *

**Me: I’ve got a new T-shirt: Ambushed with Efficacy**

**Mulan: Awesome. We on for today?**

**Me: Absolutely.**

Emma was almost used to the smells of the rec center now. She could even make it a few minutes without flashbacks. Neal was almost out, so Emma bounced him back and forth gently in the lobby and read the community bulletin board while she waited for Mulan. There was Shining Stars Language Academy and It Takes a Village Mentoring Program. An ad for a roller derby class featured a super queer-looking 11 year-old on the poster (awesome!). And there was a violet flyer announcing a criminal record expungement workshop with Dr. Archie Hopper.

_Old juvenile offenses? Many convictions can be sealed away! _

_Learn how to petition the court to seal or expunge your record and legally tell landlords and employers you have no criminal history. _

_Begin the process with a free legal consult. Bring as much paperwork as you have._

_Wednesday, April 3rd from 4pm-8pm. Organized by Dr. Archie Hopper._

Wait, what? Emma read it again. Was that even possible? When Mulan tapped her on the shoulder Emma nearly jumped.

“Good thing I didn’t yell ‘Boo!’” Mulan joked. “I thought about it, but didn’t want to wake the baby.”

“Is this poster for real?” asked Emma. “People who did things as kids can say they don’t have criminal records?”

“Well, I guess it does sound kind of like a lie, but how else would people be able to recover from juvenile offenses? The system does have a few ways to make sure kids can get rehabilitated, even if it’s pretty awful about adults.” Mulan looked at Emma’s shell-shocked face.

“Oh, Emma." She sighed. "It’s an awful system.”

“Yep,” agreed Emma.

“I know Archie’s not your favorite, but do you want me to ask him anything for you? Or come to the meeting with you?”

“I need to think about it,” said Emma. “This is a lot. But eventually there’s gonna be a ‘yes’ to something. People can just say they have no criminal history? And they don’t tell kids that!? This is so fucked up.”

“Yep,” agreed Mulan.

* * * * *

Emma spent the next few days thinking about Archie’s workshop. She had to do it, of course. How had no one ever told her it would be possible to expunge her record? A brief internet search told her she would be eligible, but she’d never known to look. What a fucking con. But to do it she’d have to talk about it. To tell people she’d been locked up. Thank God for Mulan, not flinching or making sad eyes at her. And Mary Margaret knew. Still. What would Regina think? Emma shuddered in all kinds of complicated ways.

Meanwhile, next to Emma’s turmoil Mary Margaret’s yuppie life proceeded as usual and her latest inspiration was a Saturday soccer outing for the family.

“Wait, going to a soccer game for a bunch of 10 year-olds—most of whom you don’t know—is a social outing now?”

“Oh, Emma, you have no idea. It’s out of the house and David has to be out there coaching them anyway. Neal can watch the big kids play and maybe we can have a picnic afterwards. Please come along and talk to me! I need grown-up time!”

A few hours later, Emma was leaning against a tree at the game, holding Neal in the Ergo carrier and watching the action for a bit. Mary Margaret was at the grocery store because of course they hadn’t managed to get the picnic food in advance of the picnic. Just then, someone on the yellow team made a goal and his mom went wild. _Who wears dark red, impeccable lipstick and a suit to a Saturday morning soccer match?_ Emma wondered. Wait, was that Regina? Of course it was. How did she manage to always look so good?

Emma waited for a time out and then walked over to say hi. She made a poor contrast to Regina in her ripped up jeans with the giraffe spit rag hanging out the back pocket, but it was what it was. Regina waved a quick hello and then her smile widened when she saw the baby on Emma’s chest. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Emma. Working on a Saturday, huh? They’ve got your nose to the grindstone.”

“But it’s such an adorable grindstone!” Emma answered. _That was awkward. Oh well, move on._ “Neal, this is Regina. Regina, Neal.”

“Pleased to meet you Neal,” said Regina. She reached out to stroke his fingers and lifted her hand to his fuzzy head before seeming to remember it can be frowned upon to touch other people’s babies. She came around to talk to Neal’s face instead, brushing up against Emma’s jacket in the process. Emma tried not to hold her breath. She was used to people invading her personal space by now—the baby seemed to encourage them—but she hadn’t expected Regina to be so informal. She was making the most adorable faces, her entire business persona dropped. She was also close. Very close. Why was she so much more aware of that than usual? Emma panicked.

“Here,” she said, stepping back. “Want to hold him?” Regina’s smile faltered for a moment, but quickly returned when Emma started fumbling with the straps that held Neal close to her. Regina stepped forward to help. It was all very distracting. Emma had just lifted Neal free when she finally registered Mary Margaret running towards them and making frantic “abort” motions with her hand across her neck.

“Emma!” said Mary Margaret as she finally drew closer. “Thank you for watching Neal. I can take him back now—I’m sure he needs to eat.” Mary Margaret practically grabbed Neal out of her hands and beside her, Emma felt Regina stiffen.

“I was just going to pass him to Regina for a second. She’s doing that mentor thing at school that I told you about.” _Can Mary Margaret play it cool?_ Emma wondered for a split second. She’d done far more than mention Regina in passing. _This is a bonding moment. Like that hand-holding that I swear to God actually happened._

“No, I’m afraid I’ve really got to nurse him now. In the car—some of my students are here and it wouldn’t be appropriate. Come with me to get the groceries, Emma.”

Mary Margaret was being extremely rude, but now the moment was lost anyway. Regina’s face was hard again and she was standing straight, no longer leaning so tantalizingly close to Emma. “I have to go back to my son now, anyway,” she said. “Henry will be upset if I miss anything.”

Emma began to chase Mary Margaret who was already halfway to the car. “Wait, Henry?” Emma hissed as she caught up. “As in, that kid in your class…”

“With the evil mother whom I detest? Yep, that’s her. I can’t believe you were about to hand her my child!”

“I didn’t know! Sorry. She really likes kids, though…” Emma trailed off. “Except for the one she yelled at in the middle of the playground. Yeah, okay. I’ll keep your baby to myself from now on. I promise.”


	5. Going All Elizabeth and Darcy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all,
> 
> I wanted to post much sooner but... work. Kids. I'm one of those many people whose life has been made incredibly more hectic and uncertain recently so sadly there is no hope the updates will be more frequent in this current crisis. However, I'm really looking for reading material that doesn't hinge on exponential growth and incompetent government and I bet others are too so here is my contribution. I hope you are all safe and well.

Sir_Swan_8 sulked around the perimeter of TheBookClub._ Regina was evil psycho mom. That totally sucked. _She kicked against the bricks. Nothing but bricks. _So she had to hate her now too, out of loyalty, right? How was that going to work? _Nothing but more bricks.

Sir_Swan_8 widened her circle and started stomping on the grass instead. _Just when they might have been becoming friends. And Henry, the boy she was tromping around here trying to help, was her son. Still, WriteKnightHM needed help. And he was clearly worth the attention._

Her toe hit wood. _Roots? Yes and no._ Sir_Swan_8 hacked open a trapdoor cleverly hidden in the field. Too bad for the current occupants of TheBookClub that they were all stuck in English class at that moment, as they missed an interloper emerge from behind the trophy case and begin to explore their stolen clubhouse.

* * * * *

“Regina, that’s ridiculous. I can’t switch a mentoring pair halfway through the semester. Besides, reading Emma’s reflections, it seems like your work has been productive.”

“Really?” asked Regina a tad hopefully, letting the question hang in the air.

Granny looked over her lenses witheringly until Regina tacitly withdrew. “A personality clash?” Granny continued. “And you expect me to believe that’s ever stopped you before?”

“Well, no. But I wouldn’t want to interfere with her progress.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Listen, Granny. Her roommate hates me. I tried to have her fired (the incompetent roommate, clearly, not the person whose career I’m ostensibly mentoring). I just don’t want to work with anyone with such poor social judgment—it’s hopeless.” Granny pushed herself back off the table, unimpressed.

“You come mentor for me because your son won’t speak to you and now you’re afraid Emma won’t speak to you—”

“—no, just that it would put her in an untenable position.”

“That she’ll judge you,” Granny continued placidly “and you’re not looking to yourself? Good luck with that. Lacey can switch with you for tomorrow, but then you’re back with Emma. Figure it out.”

Regina pouted. She could walk, of course. Granny wouldn’t fail Emma for something her mentor did.

“Or I’ll start hearing Henry when he orders fries instead of the side salad you ask for with his burger,” added Granny.

“That’s uncalled for,” said Regina sternly.

“But also my prerogative. See you Monday, chickenshit,” Granny called as she walked back to the kitchen.

Regina sighed over her avocado toast (a new guilty pleasure because, well, millennials couldn’t strike out every time). It’s not that she wanted to cut all contact with Emma. It’s just that when people had to choose sides, they never chose Regina. She closed her eyes for a moment and remembered Emma’s upturned face as she asked about plastic reclamation. And her soft smile as she freed her hair from the baby’s sticky fingers. And the cute fluster that would now be replaced with hard eyes and judgment.

Here was Henry coming back from the bathroom. Regina tried to put her angst away—it had been hopeless from the beginning, anyway—and asked what was coming up at school.

* * * * *

David finally got that promotion to Detective and on Sunday he took everyone out to a diner to celebrate. Emma carried in the carseat and set it on the bench next to her so that Mary Margaret and David could sit next to each other for once. She picked up the laminated menu which said “Ruby’s” at the top next to a silhouette of a wolf howling at a giant red moon. Weird.

A waitress sauntered by carrying a burger and Emma allowed herself a moment to look up from the menu and admire her tight jeans and long brown hair. Emma was single, after all, and maybe dating someone (not psycho) was just the thing she needed. Then the waitress delivered the food, turning as she did so, and Emma wasn’t quite fast enough to look away. The problem wasn’t that the waitress caught her looking—she winked and flashed Emma a smile. No, the problem was the face right behind the waitress who did not look at all happy with the flirtatious glances she had just intercepted. Emma returned to the menu, suddenly much less hungry.

“Hmmm? No, the chicken pot pie looks too heavy. Actually, maybe I’ll have the avocado toast appetizer as a meal,” commented Mary Margaret to no one in particular. “That looks good! And some fried calamari.” Emma raised an eyebrow. “And a chocolate almond milkshake.” David looked up too.

“We are celebrating David’s new job, right, and not a new pregnancy?” Emma teased.

“I’m breastfeeding. That burns even more calories than pregnancy,” Mary Margaret excused herself smugly.

“That’s my girl,” beamed David. “Feeding our son.”

“She’s not a… nevermind,” muttered Emma as she watched Mary Margaret nuzzle happily into David’s shoulder at his comments. She sneaked a peak over the corner of the menu. Yep, it was Regina all right. She was with her son, and he had a milkshake in one of those old-fashioned metal cups. Regina was still glaring, though she nodded absently at whatever Henry was saying. Emma kept the menu high.

Had Regina spotted Mary Margaret, her apparent nemesis, or was it Emma she was glaring towards? The booth didn’t provide as much cover as one might hope.

“How about you, Emma?” David repeated. “What are you getting?”

“Oh,” said Emma. “A burger I guess.”

“There are eight different ones,” Mary Margaret nodded sympathetically. “Did you read the description of the bison meat? I’m just not sure if it would be as good as regular grass-fed beef. That mozzarella we tried that was made from water buffalo milk was… disappointing.”

If Emma had been looking at David she would have caught the tolerant wink he sent her direction at Mary Margaret’s desire to learn and lecture about everything. As it was Emma knew she was going to be asked to select and opine on a burger, and the squiggles on her menu still refused to resolve into words. She leaned over unnecessarily to check on Neal instead. Regina was still looking. For a moment she looked upset, betrayed. Betrayed by Emma’s friendship with an admittedly overly kind woman who was trying to help Henry? By a quick glance at an attractive waitress? Intriguing as that would be, it was also too complicated to even contemplate. More complicated still, what was Regina reading on Emma’s face? Emma quickly looked away and found Mary Margaret watching her.

“‘She now lost every expectation of pleasure. They were confined for the evening at different tables, and she had nothing to hope, but that his eyes were so often turned towards her side of the room, as to make him play as unsuccessfully as herself,’” Mary Margaret quoted. “That’s _Pride and Prejudice_, of course. Emma, who’s over there making you go all Elizabeth and Darcy? Is it that hot waitress?”

“What are you talking about?” asked Emma while she searched for an answer that wouldn’t send Mary Margaret shrinking in her seat or storming across the diner.

“I saw her too,” Mary Margaret teased. “Oops, here she comes.” No further response seemed necessary, fortunately. Emma obligingly did her best to flirt with… Ruby, her name turned out to be. The Ruby from the menu? The owner, maybe? Should she ask about the wolf? Regina’s table was just behind Ruby’s shoulder. _Eyes on her face, Swan._

“Just a regular burger, thanks. And fries, of course.” Emma tried not to sigh with relief as Ruby turned, not without an encouraging smile, to take David’s order. Emma took the opportunity for another glance and saw Regina and Henry slip out while Ruby was listening to Mary Margaret’s instructions for David’s burger.

Ruby left her number on the check at the end of the night, which sent Mary Margaret into enough of a flutter for her and Emma both. It did nothing, however, to calm Emma’s racing heartbeat. More pressing than the question of whether she should call Ruby was the plaintive (if angry) expression on Regina’s face and Emma’s answering question: “Do I _have_ to hate her?”

* * * * *

**Unknown: Hi Emma, My name is Lacey and I’m subbing for Regina tomorrow. Can you meet at the Storybrooke Library?**

WTF??? She was just going to leave things like that? So much for hating Regina out of loyalty to Mary Margaret. Emma began to feel quite capable of nurturing some completely independent hatred.

**Me: What happened to Regina?**

**Unknown: Ms. Lucas just asked me to cover. Does the library work?**

**Me: Okay, I guess.**

A few hours later Emma wandered into Storybrooke Library and looked around the deserted children’s section for a moment. She should come here with Neal some time. There were tons of boardbooks to read and a little play area with mirrors and mats and huge stuffed animals.

**Unknown: I’m in the basement. Past the checkout desk on the left.**

**Mulan: I can confirm that Regina is totally hot.**

**Mulan: She’s mentoring me tonight? **

Emma stared at her phone. If Mulan was with Regina, then her mentor was… Lacey. Crap. This was about to get really weird.

**Emma: No idea, but I think we’ll need to talk tomorrow.**

Emma eyed a dark brown door warily, looked to the librarian for confirmation, and opened it to find a narrow cinderblock stairwell with linoleum on the stairs. Classic government architecture. She emerged in a grey room whose books looked like they wouldn’t be of much interest to anyone except the dusty woman sitting at a table in the middle of the shelves.

“Emma, hello, I’m Lacey,” she said. “Sorry to switch things up on you. I assume by this point you’ve identified a few possible careers and mapped them, right?”

“Uh…” responded Emma.

“Well, where are you then?” asked Lacey encouragingly.

“Well,” said Emma, “I’m just gonna lay it out there. I have a record from when I was a kid and so I can’t do a lot of jobs but I just discovered that I might be able to get everything wiped clean and now I have no fucking clue where to start.”

“Excellent!” said Lacey. “Not the start of that sentence, obviously, but the possibilities. I bet you’ve got a lot to work with. I have a book here somewhere with a personality test that will help you find careers that would be a good fit. Would you like to start there?”

“Sure,” sighed Emma. _Stupid chickenshit, cowardly mentor who didn’t even bother to tell me she was switching. And what the hell is she saying to Mulan right now?_

* * * * *

Finally, the moment Henry had been waiting for arrived. The school’s basketball team was playing a game on mentoring night and his illicit screen time was lined up with an empty clubhouse. WriteKnightHM was sneaking towards the secret entrance before the door closed behind his mom.

WriteKnightHM did not notice anything amiss when he reached the trapdoor—at least, nothing more amiss than he expected. The trophy case eased aside. There was some nice gear lying around on the floor, and some new holes in the walls. He sighed. He removed the standard portrait of Emperor Leopold (now with a mustache added) but the cubbyhole was empty. The Book was gone.

WriteKnightHM searched the rest of the clubhouse up and down, just in case, but it wasn’t there. An unexpected blow. Did GrayWolfMan have any idea how to use it? Unlikely! Well, this had been an extraction mission but its failure didn’t affect the rest of the plan. WriteKnightHM swept up the good stuff into his bag of holding, pausing as he went to weaken the foundations in a few key locations. One good knock and the whole thing would come down. Judging by the state of things, it wouldn’t be too long before GrayWolfMan shoved someone into a wall and that would be the end of TheBookClub.

WriteKnightHM looked around. He had outgrown the place, anyway. Snow’s old hideout was way better. But where was GrayWolfMan hiding his Book?

* * * * *

Emma and Mulan didn’t get a chance to talk on Tuesday, despite burning curiosity on both sides, but on Wednesday Emma and Neal came to the Rec center. The gym squeaked and echoed with basketballs but Neal knew the routine by now and stayed asleep. Emma sat down next to Mulan on the bleachers.

“Well?” she asked.

“Before I start,” said Mulan, “help me out here. Are we hating Regina at the moment?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I don’t know. Did she tell you why she switched? Does she know we know each other?” Mulan blew her whistle at a particularly aggressive foul and Neal startled in the carrier.

“Oh shit, sorry. Can you get him back down? She said nothing. Swept in like she had always been my mentor, looked down her nose at me the whole time, said everything seemed to be in order with my plans, and swept out.”

“So you think she’s psycho?” Emma sighed, patting Neal gently as his eyelids drooped back down.

“No, that’s not the word I’d use.” Mulan shrugged. “I was in the army long enough to recognize a defense mechanism when I see one. That woman was rude. She was borderline mean. She was smoking hot like an in-your-face power play. And I’d say she was hurting.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” said Emma. Mulan turned in her seat.

“Call me crazy, but I thought that was a good sign. She misses you.”

“That’s what I thought, too. She was making poisonous puppy dog faces at me in a restaurant on Sunday. Thank God Mary Margaret didn’t see it. M&M accused me of being in the middle of _Pride and Prejudice_.” Mulan snorted. “But if I am, it’s not at the end where everybody’s happily marrying the rich guys. It’s at the beginning where we’re trading insults and misunderstanding each other left and right. It would be so much easier to just call the hot waitress and drop out of this class.”

“Waitress?” asked Mulan.

“I’ll give you her number,” said Emma. “I sure as hell can’t go back to that diner—looked like Regina was a regular there.”

“But if you’re going for the happy ending?”

“No,” sighed Emma. “I’m going for getting her out of my head. I think.”

“Okay,” said Mulan carefully. “New subject, then. Are you staying around for Archie’s thing later?”

“No,” sighed Emma. “Mary Margaret has a meeting and David’s on the evening shift so I have the little guy.”

“Wanna go ask Archie about it now? He’d help you out baby and all. Here, I’ll walk you down there.” Mulan called out to the other chaperone on the opposite side of the room and mimed _five minutes_ to him. She stood up briskly and turned to give Emma and Neal a hand up.

“You’re a horrible friend,” said Emma.

“I know.”

* * * * *

Emma stared at her phone for a long time.

**Me: She doesn’t hate you, you know. **(Delete—obviously false.)

**Me: I don’t hate you, you know.** (Delete—false?)

**Me: I bet Henry is a great soccer player. **

(Delete—weirdly desperate and also obviously false.)

**Me: How are your mountains of plastic trash?** (Delete—false?)

**Me: She doesn’t hate you, you know. **(Delete—obviously false.)

**Me: I don’t have you, you know.** (Delete—false? Wait! Typo! Shit. Shit! Still false. Fuck.)

Emma deleted all her drafts and switched over to the text from Archie again.

**Archie: I just submitted your paperwork with the rest of the group’s. It will take a few weeks to process, but everything looks good.**

**Archie: So glad you reached out, Emma! Mulan says you’re good people. Stop by the office any time.**

And just like that, one somewhat awkward but well-meaning encounter and ten years of running and hiding began to dissolve away. Emma could barely believe it. Maybe she could work with kids after all. Maybe corporations would hire her. Maybe Regina wouldn’t reject her out of hand. Maybe she’d have options other than Regina, she told herself sternly. Oh hell, fuck it.

Emma let her mind drift. It drifted down Regina’s hair, tucking it behind her ear, and lingered on those expressive lips. Wait, what about her eyebrows? And those eyes… Emma sighed. Hair, eyebrows, lipstick, that silhouette… designer heels sinking in the mud of the soccer field. It was hopeless. Emma’s phone buzzed.

**Regina: Unanticipated interruption; apologies. See you next Monday at our usual coffee shop. **

**Regina: Unless your roommate has convinced you otherwise.**

Oh, that darling, demanding, insecure fool! Emma grinned and set the phone back down. Let Regina wait. She picked the phone back up. Poor Regina. It would be heartless to let her wonder all night.

**Me: So you’re not dead? **

Emma paused for a beat.

**Me: Despite Ms. Nolan’s best glares? **

Regina would be trying to play it cool, Emma told herself, but she was still relieved to see the three dots appear. Apparently Regina couldn’t wait for long either.

**Regina: Not dead. Why, are you?**

**Me: Um, no? I am an up-and-coming student with job prospects. Mentors are seeking me out. I’m not sure I can fit you in next week.**

**Regina: I’m friends with your course instructor and she can fail you on a whim. See you then, Ms. Swan.**

Emma bit her lip at that. Oh, it was so on! Mary Margaret be damned. She sent out one last text, this one to Mulan.

**Me: Okay, we are giving in to the inevitable and liking Regina right now. How is Ruby’s Diner?**

Mulan didn’t text back, and Emma raised a private eyebrow before she plugged in her phone and turned off the light.

* * * * *

It was 3 am when Snow snuck into the Enchanted Forest. Neal had been nursing for over an hour and screamed whenever Mary Margaret put him down. Sleep was impossible, so she held the phone as far away from the baby as she could and looked through her apps for something to do. The nice thing about a virtual wardrobe was that it still fit, though her memories were a little bit rusty. It wasn’t hard to find the path from the castle to her old hideout, though. In fact, maybe she had marked it a little bit too well. The leaves were trodden down and too many twigs had been pulled off along the way.

Snow turned hard left and ducked down between two tree roots into the secret entrance. “Well,” she announced to a few shadows “it seems that someone has been sleeping in my bed.”


End file.
